A Sweet Lie
by starfoxx322
Summary: What happens when a sweet lie becomes the truth two seconds too late?  A WWII AU fic. Contains USUK, yaoi, non-explicit sex, death, and mild language


**Title:** A Sweet Lie

**Characters/Pairings:** America, England, USUK

**Rating:** PG-15

**Warnings**: Kissing, implied sex, Death, use of a less than flattering word to describe Germans, angst, stream of consciousness type thing, AU

**Summary**: What happens when what began as a well meaning lie becomes the truth two seconds too late?

* * *

Arthur's Sweet Lie

How far the mighty had fallen.

The United States of America lays on the ground, bleeding. Dying. Chest and limbs ridden with bullets from a 7.92mm MG-34. Bullets put there by an attempt to save the one he loved. Foolish.

And the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland kneels beside to him. Hyperventilating. Or trying not to. America had leapt out. Saved him. What was he thinking? Blue eyes glazed with pain, blood trickling from the side of his mouth, clothes stained a rusty red, soft sandy blonde hair now mussed and dirtied.

America would die here in this god forsaken trench fighting this god forsaken war against that god forsaken kraut. It was not right. Nothing was right. Nothing had been right, not for a long time.

"A-a-arthhur."

His name. His human name. England's eyes lock onto America's looking for... something. What he does not know. But a simple act, the saying of a nation's human name made the situation into something different. Something delicate and intimate. England is afraid and unafraid, all at the same time.

"I'm here, Alfred," he murmurs, taking the younger man's hand. He's more of a boy really, only nineteen in body and not even two hundred in spirit. So young.

"Arthur... I... can I ask you to do something? Will you p-promise you'll do it? No matter what?" He's fading fast, his eyes going in and out of focus. How had he even lasted this long? A miracle.

"Anything," comes the whispered reply as the older man leans closer. A promise.

"Tell me you love me. Not as a brother. Not as a friend. As the one person I am meant to be with until the end of time. True love. Tell me, please, even if it is just a sweet lie. Because... because..." The voice fades and England is left staring in shock, wondering if the American has given out, before his request could be fufilled. But it comes back. Soft and sure.

"Beacuse I love you. More than family. More than a good friend, a best friend. More... more than anything." His voices fades and England knows why this is happening. America saved him. Alfred loved him. Far too simple. Far too painful.

England allowed his eyes to flutter shut and bent down, his lip's meeting the other's, kissing him as one could only kiss their true love. Softly, sweetly, but with passion and feeling. Something indescribable to those who have never felt it. Alfred responds weakly, kissing him back in the same way. He tastes of blood and battle, but it feels right. Everything is right for the first time in a long time.

And everything was wrong.

"I love you, Alfred," whispered England against the dying man's lips. "I love you more than anything in this world, more than you will ever know. Please don't leave me. Please!"

Tears are rolling down his cheeks and he knows they both can taste the salt. He does not try to hide it. He cannot. "America... Alfred..." he murmurs reverently. Heartbrokenly.

America smiles softly, a smile that England can feel both against his mouth and in his heart.

"We'll be together again one day. Until then... I choose... to believe..."

And he is gone. As is England's world, his heart. His love.

Shattered in a sweet lie that became the truth.

* * *

Alfred's Sweet Lie

How far the lowly have risen.

Since the collapse of the United States of America during World War II, the United Kingdom of Great Britain, Northern Ireland, and the States of America has risen to the top of the world. A superpower.

So close to being destroyed in war that consumed the world, he now dominated everyone, as he had before. Britannia, where the sun never sets.

It isn't right. He shouldn't be standing here, alone at the top of the world. Someone should be standing here beside him. Maybe even above him. The United States of America. Alfred.

Sometimes, late at night he can see him. Hear his voice. Wonders about his own insanity, but falls into madness anyway, because it feels so good. Better than living with a heart shattered. Even if it is just a lie, sweetened by the truth.

Alfred visits him again tonight, as he stands at the window of his London flat, looking out over the Thames. One second it is all so cold and the next it is warm. Arms wrapped around him. A faded leather jacket. Warm breath against his neck as someone nuzzles against him.

"Arthur..." he murmurs in a tone so adoring, so beautiful that England nearly cries. He turns and buries his head in Alfred's chest. Not caring that America is dead. Not caring that he saw, he felt Alfred die. A warped perfection.

"Sh, sh, I'm here baby. Don't cry, sh. I can make it better. I will make it better. Because I love you as you love me. True love. Shhhh, baby, shhh."

Soothing words that don't exist, warmth that cannot be real, a thousand lovely delusions wrap themselves around him. Allow him to be coaxed to bed, where his hallucination ministers to him, touching him kissing him. Alfred makes sweet love to him on that cold London night, as he has done a million times, yet will never do. A sweet love, a sweet lie.

Afterwards Arthur curls into a ball next to Alfred's side, and the American wraps him up in his arms and kisses him gently on the forehead, mumbling beautiful nothings of a love Arthur can only imagine.

"A-a-alfred."

A light touch brushes against his face. "What is it Arthur? What's wrong? Tell me please. I want to help. To make it better."

"Can I ask you something? Will you promise me that you will do it? No matter what?" He practically whimpers, knowing how pathetic he sounds. How lovesick.

"Anything." One word. Firm and sure. A love-filled promise made of nothing.

"Will you always love me? No matter what? Will you always be there? Waiting for me? Because I love you, Alfred. I always have, though I never realized it until it was nearly too late. And in many ways it already was. I want you to be beside me. Always. Even if it is a sweet lie that I've wrapped myself in."

Alfred kisses him, true love on his lips, spread and shared between them. It's like that day all over again, and England tastes blood and battle. And salt. Arthur's crying again. Like before. Just the same.

"Always and forever," Alfred whispers against his lips. "I won't leave you, I will constantly love you. Always and forever."

Arthur smiles a brokenhearted smile and falls asleep in the arms of the lover of his dreams.

He wakes to a reality of a cold world. It breaks what is left of his already broken heart. Again, for the second, the tenth, the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time. He falls back into the darkness, wanting nothing more to do with it, hearing Alfred's soft whispers, basking in illusion.

When they find him the next morning he is gone. All that is left is an empty shell. Nothing more.

His burial cloth is a sweet lie that could have been the truth


End file.
